


The Greatest

by aliciameade



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciameade/pseuds/aliciameade
Summary: With nothing in common but their dream of reaching the Olympics, Beca and Chloe are each other's last resort. Reluctantly, they join forces, but it's not long before the barbs - and sparks - start flying.Yup, you read that right. This AU is forThe Cutting Edge.





	The Greatest

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start with these disclaimers: I am not a competitive figure skater. I did read a lot about it. There will be some inaccuracies here for the sake of storytelling and I'm aware of them. They're necessary for the story. Also, suspend a little disbelief - but we do that for AUs anyway, right?
> 
> Now on to the fun part:
> 
> I've tried something new, at least for me, with this fic.
> 
> I've scored the entire story like one would score a movie (but this is NOT a songfic). You can access the playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/veronicamae1/playlist/7yJtUsSHb84VBrzTAUVc0a?si=K8beOiy_TaC8KoJOU2I5VA) or [YouTube.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUbOd2_QiflsEO13pGYhkY8h_TixeTMyO) If you can't use either of these for whatever reason and just want a list of songs, the full playlist can be viewed on [my tumblr.](http://aliciameade.tumblr.com/post/171984125458/the-greatest)
> 
> The only issue with this is that I can't control the speed of your reading like a movie director, nor the length of the songs like a music director, so I've based my score on average reading speeds. You can ignore the playlist and it will not take anything away from the story. You can queue it up and let it play and maybe it syncs well enough that you will have a real soundtrack to this story. Or you can manually control the tracks yourself to match your pace, and I've indicated where the tracks change as unobtrusively as possible with a simple [Track #] at the appropriate mark.
> 
> All that said - this AU is a bit absurd and I kind of love it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

* * *

 

[Track 1]

 

**_February 2014_ **

**_Sochi, Russia_ **

**_XXII Winter Olympic Games_ **

 

Chloe wakes with a start. It’s bright, sunlight pouring in the windows. She looks at the clock on the nightstand and leaps out of bed with a shriek of panic.

 

“It’s 1:00?! It’s 1:00 in the afternoon?! Shitballs! I’ve got a game!”

 

Her clothes are everywhere and she stumbles through the small room, hopping as she shoves one leg and then the other into her warm-ups. “What happened to the alarm?!” she scolds the woman just beginning to stir in bed who sits up in confusion. “I’m supposed to be on the ice!”

 

“You say, ‘nein.’”

 

Chloe scrambles for socks, throwing three pairs into her bag. “Yeah, nine! Nine o’clock, what happened?”

 

“Ya, nein!”

 

“Where’s my badge, where’s my badge…” She finds her ID and lanyard laying on the dresser under a bra that is not her own.

 

“You say, ‘nein alarm.’ Is mistake?”

 

“Ohhh my God,” Chloe says with a groan. The language barrier with the German cross-country skier in her bed was _not_ a problem last night. “No, no, it’s okay, you didn’t make a mistake.” She tries to smile at the blonde but knows she probably doesn’t look very reassuring at the moment. “This is great, so great, late for the Olympics,” she mutters to herself. “I’m only four hours late, Rita.” She was supposed to be with her team for pre-game so, _so_ long ago. She’s the frigging team captain, and she’s four hours late. She pulls on a sports bra and a tank top before her USA windbreaker.

 

There’s some jumble of incomprehensible language behind her before an angry, “Rita?”

 

Chloe jams her feet into her sneakers.

 

“Rita?” the girl repeats in confusion and Chloe looks up from where she’s now on her hands and knees shoving the rest of her gear into her bag. Did she get her name wrong? She’s usually better than that, but there had been a _lot_ of whiskey.

 

“Leta?” she tries.

 

“Leta?!” _Nope, still wrong._

 

She throws her bag over her shoulder to leave but tries one more time. “Anita?

 

“Gita!”

 

“Gita! Right, sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I have to go. But thanks for last night. Bye!”

 

She feels a pillow hit the back of her head on her way out and hopes Gita doesn’t steal anything from her room.

 

Not that Chloe doesn’t deserve it if she does.

 

* * *

 

[Track 2]

 

Beca has spent her life working toward this moment.

 

The 2014 Olympic Games. She’s on Olympic ice. It’s only a practice session and there are four other pairs she and Donald have to share it with, but she doesn’t care. She is all business. Competition - the Olympics - has been her life since the day she was born.

 

She lets Donald skate ahead and into position to lift her. It’s the one move they’ve struggled with all season, his arm strength and balance inconsistently reliable and his arms give out, her dismount is a mess, and she almost falls on her ass as a result.

 

“15 million people just called their families in from the kitchen to watch the rewind the DVR,” rings out at her. “What do you think this is, Beca? Junior Pairs '08?”

 

Her coach is _such_ a jerk. She hates him. Truly. He’s berating her in front of her fellow competitors, the spectators who’ve come to watch practice, and the press. She skates up to him barking at her from the other side of the boards. “No, in 2008, you were still humiliating me in private.”

 

“Maybe that’s because you were still listening.”

 

“If I stopped listening, it’s only because I’ve gone deaf from you screaming in my ear the last 11 years. He’s not giving me anything to work with!” She skates away past Donald without apology. This is the _Olympics_ , damn it. Pull it together, dude.

 

“I want to see your ass in the air, Beca!” her coach yells at her.

 

They have the full attention of the arena now and she can hear the shutters of the high-speed cameras firing and people murmuring.

 

That statement gets her attention and she skates back. “Until Donald can lock his grip, _this_ will have to do.”

 

She spins and flips the back of her skirt up as she skates away, letting her coach - and the rest of the arena - get a prime look at her ass.

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s sprinting toward the ice complex and all but throws her ID at the security working the gate as she yells, “Beale, US women’s hockey!” and barely stops long enough to let them scan it.

 

* * *

 

“Beca, this has to stop right now,” her father chastises as she packs up after practice. He’s almost as bad as her coach, but at least _he_ keeps his voice down lest _he_  is publicly embarrassed. “Coach Smith knows what's best, honey. He got us here.”

 

She shoves her water bottle and towel into her bag and zips her USA warm-up jacket. “How sweet. He lets _us_ tag along.” Her father has always acted like her competitions were his - her wins are his wins. They win - Beca doesn’t win. She does all the work and he foots the bill - and makes sure she doesn’t think about getting lazy.

 

“You're going to go back out there, apologize, and get to work.”

 

She stares him down in his expensive topcoat and leather gloves; her father has given her everything - literally, everything - and if it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be standing in an Olympic arena. But that doesn’t give him a free pass to control her, even though she knows he does it anyway. “I wouldn’t bet on that, Dad.” She turns to leave.

 

“Where do you think you're going, young lady?”

 

“I'll be in my cell.”

 

* * *

 

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

 

“The Star-Spangled Banner” is playing when Chloe finds her way to the arena’s tunnels. It’s a maze and she hasn’t been in this venue yet because it’s only the third game and she’s _late for it._

 

She’s not paying attention to where she’s going, not really, only that she needs to follow the music, and she rounds a corner and slams into someone. Hard. She manages to stay on her feet but the person she’s collided with doesn’t, and she whirls around to see the woman she’s run over.

 

She’s wearing the same warm-ups that Chloe is, her brunette hair tied in a tight bun, and she’s staring up at Chloe like a deer in the headlights.

 

Chloe should stop to apologize but she’s missing her game. She realizes the girl has dropped things, a pair of figure skates to be precise, so she at least grabs them and shoves them back into the girl’s hands. “Does this go to the ice?”

 

“What?”

 

“Does this hall go to the ice? To the hockey rink?”

 

“Is that all you have to say to me? Were you raised in a barn?!”

 

 _Ugh, this girl! Making her even later!_ “Honey, where I’m from, we stand for the National Anthem.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 3]

 

Hockey is Chloe’s life. She’d begged and pleaded with her mom when she was a kid to let her play. She was certain she’d get injured, but she finally relented. She’d had to play on all-boys teams until high school, and she did get injured - often. She had the scars to prove it, including one right between her eyebrows thanks to the butt end of a hockey stick. But she loved it, and she’d made it to college on a full-ride scholarship at one of the biggest hockey schools in the country. She’d led her team to two Division I championships so far and had scouts at every game.

 

But this game was a shit show. Switzerland was supposed to be an easy game but Team USA was underperforming. They were down by a goal in the third period and she’s stuck in the penalty box for high-sticking - a total bullshit call in her opinion, but she has no choice but to wait out the two minutes. She’s riled up and she knows it. Team USA doesn’t lose, not in women’s hockey.

 

Except to Canada, but she’s not going to think about that right now.

 

She’s out of the box quick as lightning when they open it; she knows the play, her team knows the play, and she sprints, ready for the puck on a breakaway but she’s too fast and crosses the blue line a millisecond too soon and gets whistled for being offside.

 

It only pisses her off more.

 

She’s rough with her opponent and risks getting a penalty but it goes uncalled. The move lets her break away with the puck, deking around the two defensemen who are struggling to follow her moves.

 

She knows what she wants. Can taste it. She gets checked from the side and she sees the goalie drop her guard, just for a split-second, thinking she’s going to lose the puck.

 

Only she doesn’t. She’s off-balance but fires it straight into the back of the net to tie the game.

 

She hasn’t even gotten her stick up to cheer yet when’s slammed into the boards and everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

It’s happening. It’s here - Beca’s skating on Olympic ice, and this time it’s not for a practice or a warm-up. It’s the big show and they only have to get through the one problematic lift and she knows they’ll skate right into gold medal position.

 

Only she falls.

 

She falls at the Olympics she’s spent her entire life preparing for.

 

* * *

 

**_March 2014  
_ **

**_Minneapolis, Minnesota_ **

 

“You’ve lost 18º of peripheral vision in your right eye.”

 

Chloe sits across from the ophthalmologist in his office, sterile and cold.

 

“For most people, this wouldn’t be much of an issue. But for a hockey player -”

 

She doesn’t like where he’s going with this. “How long until it comes back?”

 

“Chloe, you’ve had extreme trauma to your occipital lobe.”

 

“And? How long?”

 

He sighed and looked at her squarely. “You have a blind side now, Chloe. It’s a permanent condition.”

 

That was...that wasn’t acceptable. “There’s an operation, right? Get a laser up in my eye, or in my brain? Fix it?”

 

“Chloe, I’m sorry. This I sent a reversible condition.  I don’t see hockey in your future anymore.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 4]

 

**_January 2016  
_ **

**_Grand Forks, North Dakota_ **

 

Chloe clocks out of her crappy day job. She hates it, working in a pet supply warehouse, driving a forklift to move pallets of cat litter and dog food.

 

But it’s worth it because it helps pay the rent on her pride and joy, the bar she opened when she went back to North Dakota with her tail between her legs and an 18º loss in vision in one eye - Beale’s Penalty Box.

 

She drops by after work before her game. It’s her ritual now - she can’t go out and skate without smelling the stale air of her bar and without Aubrey making one of her signature sandwiches.

 

“Hi, Chloe!” her co-owner calls when she shows up, hockey bag on her shoulder and stick in hand.

 

She strides through the place like she owns it because she does. “I’ve got a game. Can you make me a sandwich?”

 

“Wait - Cynthia-Rose can’t make it in today. I could use some help.”

 

“I have a game.”

 

“It’s Friday night!”

 

Chloe opens the back door to pick up something from the house she’s building for herself behind the bar. “Make me a sandwich?”

 

“I need some help!”

 

“I need a sandwich!”

 

She feels Aubrey following her. “Chloe, it’s Friday night. No one else is available to come in.”

 

“I’m not a bartender, Bree.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re ‘more’ than a bartender because you have a big game to get to? You’re playing in a bar league.”

 

Chloe sets her gear down against the foundation of her house with a thump and turns. “At least I’m playing.” She knows it’s a low blow - she and Aubrey played together at UND, but Aubrey didn’t go to the Olympics. Aubrey didn’t get scouted by the pros. And now Aubrey works at a bar owned by her best friend.

 

Aubrey pulls something out of her pocket. “Another letter showed up today. Connecticut Whales. It’s time to give it up, Chlo.”

 

“Give me that,” she says, ripping the envelope out of Aubrey’s hands. She knows what is, another ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ letter after repeated inquiries for a try-out. There weren’t many options, what with only four professional women’s hockey teams in the country. Even hockey-crazy Canada only had seven.

 

“If you want something to eat, make it yourself,” Aubrey says with coldness and leaves her alone.

 

* * *

 

_**January 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

Beca feels him drop away. They should be spinning in unison but she knows she’s alone. It’s aggravating, it’s just a scratch spin and there’s no reason he should have faltered.

 

“That’s enough, Beca,” her coach says and she breaks out of it easily, cutting her momentum with a stick of her toe pick into the ice.

 

Her partner is on his knees on the ice breathing like he’s run a marathon.

 

“Sweet,” she says with a satisfied smile. “Let’s do it again.”

 

Coach Gail makes her way onto the ice, shaking her head. She told Coach John she was going retire after the 2014 failure.

 

But then last year her father found Gail, and here she is with another guy who can’t keep up with her.

 

“Do we or do we not have eight minutes left?” Beca asks her.

 

Gail holds his hand up. “That’s enough for today. How about you hit the showers?” she asks Beca’s pitiful excuse for a partner who still hasn’t made it back to his feet.

 

“What he needs is a ride to the airport,” she says once he’s up and skating toward the locker rooms. “I’ve got laundry that can skate better than that.” He’d survived a month, and that was only because she was generous.

 

But she’s been through seven partners in two years. And she’s just fired number eight.

 

She doesn’t know where Coach Gail is going to find another partner - there are only so many male figure skaters with US citizenship who can actually skate worth a shit.

 

But that’s not her problem.

 

* * *

 

_**February 2016** _

_**Grand Forks, North Dakota** _

 

Chloe’s hanging from the rafters - quite literally - with a nail gun when she hears a voice below her.

 

“You’re stronger than I thought!” It’s a woman, and she sounds loud and perky.

 

She can’t crane her neck enough to look, though. “Sorry, what?”

 

“You’re much stronger than I thought. I’ve spent a lot of time watching you, Miss Chloe Beale.”

 

“That’s not at all creepy.”

 

“I must say, you’re a very captivating skater.”

 

She hooks the nail gun onto her belt and unplugs it from the compressor so she can wrap her arms around the beam and look at the visitor upside down. She’s blonde and impeccably dressed. “I’m sorry; If you’re a reporter, you’re a little late. My story’s been done for a while.”

 

“I’m not a reporter. I’m a coach.”

 

Chloe smiles knowingly. “Oh, what’s the deal - you trick me, and Aubrey buys you a beer?”

 

“What? No, my name is Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger -”

 

The name is so unique but she feels like she’s heard it before, somewhere. She thinks about it and then has a vague recollection of seeing something like it on a website and it’s enough to stir up hope. She swings down excitedly to stand. “From the Inferno! I can’t believe it! You got my letter!” She’d broken down and began soliciting the Canadian league after Connecticut rejected her. “You couldn’t have come at a better time - I’m in the best shape of my life! I’m skating, five, six hours a night. Speed drills, stick drills -”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa little lady - I’m not a _hockey_ coach.”

 

She deflates. “Then what is this?”

 

“Maybe nothing,” the woman says with a smile and shrug. She starts digging in her large purse. “Here. Try these on for size.”

 

Chloe frowns and takes a step back like the woman’s offered her a snake to hold. “Those are figure skates.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 5]

 

_**February 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

Figure skates or not, she ends up on a First Class flight to New York and in a private town car driving her to Greenwich, Connecticut with Gail.

 

There’s some irony there, she realizes, what with the Whales rejecting her and all.

 

The property she’s taken to is massive - the stuff she’s only read about in books and seen in movies. Acres of well-maintained land, stables, riding arenas, barns, and a mansion at the center of it all where she’s dropped off.

 

“This way,” Gail says and Chloe follows her down the hill past the mansion toward what appears to be a _very_ fancy barn. But when Gail slides the door open -

 

She gawks. “You have your own rink?”

 

“We have ice every day.”

 

She sees they aren’t alone - there’s a woman on the ice, so graceful it’s almost sickening with the way she moves through turns and spins and jumps.

 

The woman notices them and skates up, though it’s not so much in greeting. “That’s not Applebaum. Where the hell is Applebaum?” She skates backward to follow them. “I thought you said he’d be here.”

 

“No, _you_ said Applebaum. This is Beale. Miss Chloe Beale.”

 

Chloe smirks at her; she recognizes the girl now - there’s no way she couldn’t with that smart mouth and those eyes. She’d run her over at the Olympics right before the injury that cost her her career.

 

She can tell that Beca recognizes her, too. “Beale? Never heard of her.”

 

“Chloe is a beautiful skater.”

 

Beca puts her hands on her hips. “Oh. You’re that hockey player.”

 

Chloe smiles and walks onto the ice to offer her hand in greeting. “How do you do?” Beca skates backward to avoid her. “Nice to meet...you?”

 

Beca looks away and stars at Gail.

 

“It’s a tryout,” Gail implores. “A _tryout_.”

 

Beca's lips press together in a firm line and she offers her hand for a stiff handshake. Beca holds it for a second and then jerks away with disgust.

 

“What’s wrong with my hand?”

 

“What do you do, soak them in battery acid?”

 

Chloe eyes the girl; she’s a spoiled brat. The type who’s grown up always getting her way and never having to want for anything. “I know they’re a little rough, but no one’s complained before.”

 

“Oh, I’m so impressed.”

 

Chloe frowns. She was asked to come here, and this girl is already hell-bent on proving her incapable. “What’s your problem?”

 

“I don't know how many slap shots you've taken to the brain, but this was your audition,” Beca says sharply. “And let me assure you, it's over.”

 

Chloe scoffs; this girl went from zero to 60 over nothing. “Hey, ice queen, relax. I'm no figure skater. I'm a hockey player.”

 

“Then what are you doing here? Get her out of my building.”

 

“What?”

 

“Get her out of my building.”

 

“‘Temperamental’?” Chloe says to Gail. “You know, I can think of a better word for it.”

 

“ls that what you told her?” Beca asks from where she’s skated to several feet away.

 

“What, like it’s a big secret?” Chloe answers.

 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

 

“I know exactly who I am. I’m a girl who came a long way to help you.”

 

“Help? You think I need your _help?!_ ”

 

 _No. No, no, no. Eff all this._ “I’m sorry, Mrs. Feinberger. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I’m out.” She starts walking toward the door.

 

“Enough!” cuts through their silence. “Introductions are over. Conversation is finished. Mouths closed, ears open. ‘Pairs’ means two. You have no partner. You are skating nowhere,” she says to Beca. “And where are you going?” she directs back at Chloe. “Back to Siberia where skating on a pond is exciting? Believe me, Gretzky, I’m the last person who’s coming to look for you.”

 

Chloe stops; she’s right. She’s at the end of the line with trying to make a hockey career out of the cards she’s been dealt. She looks across the ice at Beca who rolls her eyes and looks away.

 

“Good,” Gail says with a clap. “Let’s skate.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 6]

 

Chloe grumbles to herself while she laces up her skates. She’s laced skates thousands of times, but none like the ones she’s wearing now, not since she was a little girl and her mother did it for her. Those only lasted a week before she switched to hockey skates and never looked back - until now. She can’t believe she’s trying this - being a figure skater, a _pairs_ figure skater, at that.

 

A same-sex pairs figure skater.

 

To say it was unorthodox was an understatement. There was only one other same-sex pair who’d made it to the Olympics, and for them to get there it had taken massive lobbying and dozens of protests and petitions to get the International Skating Union to finally change its rulebook. She didn’t follow the details that closely, but the story dominated the Sochi games and if you were a Winter Olympian, you knew what was happening in pairs figure skating that year. And in Russia, of all places.

 

She tugs her jeans down over the boots of her skates and steps onto the ice; her feet almost feel naked without their hard armor, but the ice feels the same. And it’s nice ice.

 

She skates up behind Beca as instructed.

 

“You are taking her left hand and your right hand is at her waist,” Gail directs.

 

She takes up Beca’s hand in her own and wraps her other around her waist. Beca’s petite, as she should be as a figure skater, but Chloe can feel the strength inside. She tries to smile at Beca to break the tension, but the skater is staring straight ahead as though she’s in disbelief she’s having to live through this experience.

 

“Good. Your line is beautiful. I will count the rhythm, you push off on four. Beca will lead.”

 

“Wait, hang on,” Chloe says, craning her neck over Beca’s shoulder to look down. “What’s the deal with the claws on my skates?” It’s not that she’s never seen figure skates before; she just isn’t sure how they’re supposed to work and why they aren’t just nice curved blades like what she’s used to.

 

“It’s a toe pick,” Gail answers.

 

“Toe pick?” she giggles. “That’s really what it’s called? Sounds like something I’d have in my bathroom.”

 

“I wouldn't let it get in your way,” Beca says with disdain.

 

“I don't let anything get in my way,” Chloe snaps back. If Beca thinks she’s going to intimidate her out of this opportunity, she has another thing coming.

 

Beca sighs. “Count it off.”

 

Gail counts to four and they start.

 

Instantly, Chloe regrets not asking for some warm-up time so she could adjust to the new skates. Beca’s not going slowly - not that she expected her to - and she’s struggling to keep up in her unfamiliar equipment while keeping a framed hold on Beca.

 

It takes her a lap, but she starts to get the hang of it and manages to catch up and get her hand back on Beca’s waist.

 

“When was the last time you showered?” Beca snaps. There’s nothing wrong with her hygiene, Chloe knows, and while she maybe looks a little sloppy in jeans and a sweatshirt and no make-up coming from a seven-hour travel day, she certainly doesn’t smell.

 

“ls that an invitation?” she replies with a smile that Beca can’t see.

 

Beca changes the grip on their hands and yanks her. It makes Chloe stumble and the claws on her skates catch and she faceplants on the ice with a groan.

 

She watches Beca skate off and twirl to look back at her, laughing. “Toe pick.” Helpful. Very helpful.

 

Chloe glares at her and pushes herself back to her feet.

 

* * *

 

“Beca, lift your arms, please.” Chloe watches her hesitate, can practically see her brain trying to come up with something bitchy to say. “Go on.”

 

She finally relents and lifts her arms, extended level with her shoulders.

 

“Chloe, pick her up.”

 

Now, Chloe knows there are lifts in pairs figure skating, but a man lifting a woman and a woman lifting a woman were two different things. Beca was small, but there was no way she could -

 

She puts her hands under Beca’s arms and lifts; she’s surprisingly (or maybe not) light and she’s able to lift her high until her elbows are locked. It’s not really that difficult whatsoever. She kind of feels like she could hold her forever.

 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Gail says.

 

But she doesn’t say to put her down, so Chloe doesn’t.

 

“I told you this was ridiculous,” Beca gripes. “Would you please put me down?!” she finally barks at Chloe.

 

So she does.

 

She drops her controlling, spoiled ass right on the ice.

 

* * *

 

[Track 7]

 

Chloe wanders around a trophy room; it’s impressive, just like everything else about the Mitchell compound, but its centerpiece is not. It’s nothing but an empty glass case.

 

“If you stare at it long enough, you’ll start to see an Olympic gold medal in there.” It’s a man’s voice behind her and she turns to greet whomever it is. “Jack Mitchell. Sit down, please,” he says with a smile as he shakes Chloe’s hand.

 

Chloe takes a seat across from him at his massive polished oak desk and his tailored designer suit.

 

“I’ve spoken with Gail. First of all, the simple fact that she brought you out, you should feel proud. I mean, we're talking about probably the greatest judge of skating talent in the world.” Jack Mitchell is writing a personal check as he talks. “I saw you skate in Sochi. You were a great, great hockey player. I don’t want you to feel like this was a complete waste of your time. I mean, it was worth a shot.”

 

Chloe’s heard rejection a hundred times. “The eye?”

 

“No, the eye's not a problem.”

 

“Is it your daughter?” she says with a thinly veiled smirk.

 

Jack regards her and seems to find a bit of amusement in her remark. “Beca is Beca. She's an only child, she was raised without a mother. The strain of competition...sudden changes tend to bring out her...color.”

 

“ _Color?_ Is that what that was?”

 

“Frankly, the idea's just a little too bizarre for me. I believe you're on a 10:30 flight, First Class.” He hands Chloe the fold of documents she just watched him slip the personal check into.

 

“This is called giving me a shot?” she says, annoyed. She didn’t come all this way to make a fool of herself.

 

“I don't have time to screw around. I can't afford to be wrong about you. We were 45 seconds away from the gold medal. We were knocking on the door and our boy dropped the ball. That glass box is empty for one reason: we can't find a go-to guy. 35 male skaters. These boys have been doing this for years and they couldn't cut it. Wagner, no stamina.” He crumples a sheet of paper from his desk and tosses it toward the bin to punctuate his statement - but misses. “Myerson, no rhythm.” And again. “Leone, Parnes, Hudler.” Chloe assumes the papers are resumes of some kind, and they all miss the trash can and he drops a stack of papers in front of her. “Not one single pressure-player in the bunch.”

 

Chloe cocks an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you need a go-to _girl_.” She pulls the next paper off the stack, a name she doesn’t recognize, and glances at the bin before looking back at him and tossing it, blindly.

 

It goes in.

 

“Lucky shot,” Jack says with a laugh.

 

She pulls the check he’s written out of her flight itinerary and tries to ignore the fact that whatever number it leads with is followed by three zeros and crumples it in her fist. “Double or nothing?”

 

“You're on.”

 

* * *

 

When they emerge from the room, Chloe almost runs over Beca - again. She was obviously trying to eavesdrop and tries to busy herself with her phone, as though she always stands in the middle of the hallway scrolling through Instagram.

 

“Beca! There you are,” her father says grandly.

 

She still looks nervous; for an Olympian, she seems to fluster easily. “Hey. I was just coming to say goodbye.”

 

“Hold that thought,” her father says as he walks Chloe to the door. “Chloe’s staying with us for a while.”

 

Chloe smiles at Beca. “Good talking to you, Jack. Catch your act tomorrow,” she adds with a wink at Beca.

 

She moves into a guest room on the top floor of the mansion, and the guest room is nicer than any home she’s ever had.

 

* * *

 

[Track 8]

 

“You know, if we’re working together, you could try to be nice,” Chloe says the next morning as they’re warming up on the ice.

 

Beca spins and skates backward to throw at her, “You won't be here long enough to make it worth the effort.”

 

“What, you think I can't put up with your crap?” Chloe’s been a team player; she can put up with any attitude. Even Beca’s.

 

“No, I don't think you can skate.”

 

That just won’t do. She picks up her pace to catch up with Beca. “There's two things I do really well, honey. And skating's the other one.”

 

“Does that line really work on women?”

 

“Hasn’t failed me yet. I don’t expect you to have much knowledge about successful pick-up lines, though.”

 

Beca lifts her chin to try to look down her nose at Chloe. “As a matter of fact, I do have a boyfriend.”

 

“Do you keep him chained up in the basement?

 

“Jesse, at the moment, is working in my father's London office. He's working on his MBA. Harvard. You might've heard of it; they do have a hockey team.”

 

“He must be a very smart guy. Bet you look pretty good from a few thousand miles away.” She smiles and moves back to their first position. Truth be told, Beca would look good from a million miles away, and Chloe knows it.

 

They skate.

 

They skate while Gail waxes metaphorical about couples as flowers and Chloe is the stem - the stem who catches her skate on the ice and faceplants when she moves to switch her grip.

 

Beca skates to a halt in front of her and bends down to smile at her failure. “Toe pick.”

 

Chloe gets up and they try again.

 

Again she misses the switch - she sees the delight in Beca’s eyes as she intentionally keeps her hand out of reach - and again she faceplants.

 

“Toe pick.”

 

And again.

 

“Toe pick!”

 

And again. And again. And again.

 

She’s on her back in agony and sees Beca skate a lazy figure eight, offering her a sing-song, “Tooooe pick!”

 

She has to ice every part of her body before bed that night.

 

* * *

 

[Track 9]

 

_**March 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

Chloe laces up her hockey skates and grabs a stick and a puck while Gail Zambonis the rink. They’re on a break and she should be resting, but she hasn’t handled a puck in so long, she thinks she might go crazy if she doesn’t. She’s even wearing her vintage Team USA jersey. Number 21, Cammi Granato, of course - the captain of the first Olympic women’s hockey team. So she plays with Gail and the Zamboni as if it’s a defender, skating backward, commentating her own play until she’s shrieking, “Beale scooooores!”

 

Her path takes her to the end of the rink and she takes a seat on the edge to retape her stick. Beca’s curled up in a chair with her phone, earbuds in and it’s so loud Chloe can hear the tinny sound of what she’s listening to, and it gets louder when she pops one out. It sounds a lot like she’s listening to Rihanna and Drake’s “Work.”

 

“If you’re so bored, why don’t you read or something?”

 

Chloe’s not bored, and she’s kind of amused that she’s irritating Beca. “What, like, a book?”

 

“That is one option, yes. There’s also magazines, e-readers...the back of a shampoo bottle?”

 

Chloe smiles at her and keeps wrapping the tape around her stick. “Careful; sounds like you’re starting an actual conversation.”

 

Beca grumbles a little and the wall that Chloe almost got a peek through snaps back into place. “I was just asking if you knew how to read.”

 

“Yes, Chloe read good,” she deadpans.

 

“Then what was the last book you read?”

 

Chloe actually has to think about it.

 

“Okay, you were in college; you must have had books assigned,” Beca tries.

 

She shrugs. “College was about hockey for me. I only had to study hard enough to keep my grades high enough to stay on the team. What about you? What did they make you read in your elite Ivy League university?”

 

Beca’s quiet for a second and Chloe can tell she’s struck a nerve. “I had tutors,” Beca finally says. “The _best_ tutors.” She seems embarrassed by her admission and Chloe sees the steel reinforcements slam over her wall. She gets up to step back onto the ice and kicks into Chloe’s hockey gear on purpose and pretends to trip. “Would you please find someplace else to put your _clubs?_ ”

 

Chloe smiles. Beca’s a little bundle of fire. “Wow, I would I love to see you play hockey.”

 

Beca spins back to her with more gusto than is really necessary for the action. “Any day.”

 

“How’s now for you?”

 

* * *

 

[Track 10]

 

Chloe takes it easy on her, skating backward while Beca focuses on trying to handle the puck. It’s adorable, really, seeing her imperfect on the ice for once. The comically large hockey gloves that extend halfway up her skinny arms are the cherry on top.

 

“C’mon, you can do better than that!” she teases, poking at Beca’s stick with her own before skating around her to give her a chance at a breakaway. She doesn’t take it, so Chloe takes the puck.

 

“Dude! Not cool!”

 

Chloe smiles at her and starts advancing. It’s child’s play, really. Not even middle school level as she dribbles the puck. And maybe she shows off a little, dropping it back to bounce between her skates and then back up to her stick, but who’s to blame her? Beca’s been showing her up for weeks.

 

It’s an easy goal, right between Beca’s toe-picked skates and through the makeshift goal of two water bottles sitting on the ice. “That’s one.” She smiles.

 

Chloe drops the puck for another round and gives Beca ample opportunity to snag it but she’s too slow, so Chloe has no choice but to grab it and start pushing her back toward her own goal again. “Come on, Becs. Take it.” She dekes when Beca actually makes a decent move and pulls it out of her reach.

 

“Hey!” Beca says in protest and Chloe skates away from her with a laugh before moving right toward her, then past for another goal.

 

“That’s two.”

 

Beca starts getting aggressive after that; Chloe catches an elbow to the stomach but laughs it off. She gets her stick under Beca’s to steal the puck away again and she catches Beca laughing - until the puck sails through her goal.

 

“Three.”

 

She’s actually breaking a sweat - the good kind of hockey sweat, not the gross sweat of pain and frustration she’s broken for the last two months. She looks at Beca as she gives her a chance for a minute or two with the puck, and she’s sweating, too, wispy hairs stuck to her forehead and ponytail swinging with her motion.

 

She’s cute.

 

But not cute enough to let her score, so Chloe steals the puck and does it for her.

 

Three more times.

 

“Fucking knock it off!” Beca screams at her, slapping her stick on the ice, and all Chloe can do is laugh. “You make me sick.”

 

Chloe lays off because Beca’s just _so_ pissed, so she’ll let her finally get one. Chloe’s up six to nothing, so she can forego one goal. She lets her take it - a free shot.

 

She watches Beca wind up, and -

 

* * *

 

“It’s not like her nose was that perfect anyway,” Beca grumbles in the waiting room of the emergency room next to Gail, who seems unbothered while she reads the newspaper. And maybe Chloe’s nose was kind of perfect... “She’s the one that wanted to play.” Gail says nothing. “She’s like those guys who ask you to punch them in the stomach as hard as you can to test their abs.” Still nothing. She just turns the page. “I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you.” Silence. “All I did was play her stupid game!” More silence. “Next you’ll be telling me how guilty I sound.”

 

“It’s not guilt,” Gail finally says. But Beca kind of thinks it is. Not that she’d admit it. “It’s fear.”

 

She scoffs. “You’re joking. What do I have to be afraid of?

 

“You’ve finally found a partner.”

 

She laughs, and Gail’s right - she’s terrified. Movement catches her eye and then she sees Chloe, bandages wrapped around her head, covering her nose and eyes, and she’s groaning in pain as she’s brought out in a wheelchair. Beca’s heart stops. “Oh my God! I thought you said it was just her nose?!”

 

Chloe mumbles something but she can’t make it out.

 

“What? What's wrong?”

 

Chloe moves, slowly and heavily, until her hand is dragging the bandages off her face to reveal nothing more than a curved bruise between her nose and right eye.

 

“Toe pick!” Chloe says cheerily.

 

Beca just stares at her, feeling every ounce of worry and panic vaporize and instead she storms out of the ER, irritated that the doors are automatic and won’t let her slam them.

 

* * *

 

[Track 11]

 

_**April 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

They train together - not just on the ice but off.

 

Beca’s father hires a second personal trainer for Chloe.

 

They jog together and Beca takes Chloe her favorite through the countryside. Chloe’s favorite thing to do is irritate Beca along the way by doing immature things like bumping into her or stealing her cap to make her chase it.

 

One morning, Chloe makes her chase it for four miles along the creek that sliced through the woods around the Mitchell property.

 

They do CrossFit, and there’s an unspoken contest to see who can get through their WODs first. Chloe usually wins because CrossFit is right in her physical wheelhouse, and it pisses off Beca something fierce.

 

They swing kettlebells and pedal through private marathon spin classes. Chloe pretends not to know that Beca programs the playlist for each spin session. She knows Beca loves music; she wears headphones far too often for someone who just has a passing interest, and until the day she caught her listening to Rihanna, Chloe had been sure Beca’s taste lay solely in the world of classical.

 

They lift weights - machines and free weights and there’s never a time that doesn’t turn into a competition, too. There’s something fun about seeing who can lift the most and Beca’s strength really shines on the machines.

 

Chloe is usually able to beat her by five or ten pounds, though, and for some reason, coming up short on the weights is the only thing Beca doesn’t seem to get mad about losing at.

 

She has noticed, though, that Beca tends to watch her more than usual when Chloe’s lifting weights. Something about that stirs things up in her and she wonders if maybe Beca’s finding consolation in it somehow.

 

There’s something a little sexy about it all. Working up a sweat together. Pushing each other. Arguing with each other. Challenging each other.

 

* * *

 

_**May 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

If Beca’s honest with herself, she gets off on it a little bit, their competitiveness. It starts leaking into every aspect of their training, and she sets her alarm for 7:00 to beat Chloe to the rink.

 

There’s no real reason for it. She just wants to win.

 

She wakes up and dresses quickly, sneaks out of the house so she doesn’t risk waking up Chloe, and then sprints down to the rink.

 

But when she slides open the door, Chloe’s already there working through their routine. She watches her, and really, Chloe’s...not bad anymore. Okay, maybe she’s...good. She knows how to use the toe pick now, and uses it well as she pops through an easy double Salchow and lands it with ease.

 

When Chloe showed up in her rink in January, barely able to move in a pair of figure skates, Beca had thought this experiment to be a waste of time and energy. No hockey player could become an elite figure skater - not one good enough for Beca, anyway. Certainly not one good enough to stand next to her atop an Olympic podium. Figure skating was something you were born into, something you had to learn from childhood. Its methodologies were too intricate to learn as an adult, too complex to have to unlearn one style of skating and master another in a fraction of the time Beca spent learning it all.

 

She watches Chloe land a double Axel.

 

* * *

 

_**July 2016** _

_**Greenwich, Connecticut** _

 

“You want my hands _where?_ ” Chloe asks. She’s staring at Beca’s, well...frankly, she’s staring at Beca’s crotch to learn how to perform a lift. She knows she and Beca have to get close when they skate; it’s the nature of the sport. This is basically second base, though.

 

There’s a harness involved and Beca’s hanging from the ceiling from it above the ice. Chloe presses her feet into the spin, Beca’s hands in hers above her head as though Chloe’s holding her there. “How am I doing?”

 

“Maybe in five years, you'll get it up to half-speed,” Beca cracks.

 

Chloe drops her hands and skates away to leave her hanging. Literally. Beca might have a smart mouth, but in her current position, Chloe has the upper hand.

 

“Hey! Get back here and get me down!”

 

* * *

 

**_September 2016_ **

**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ **

 

Chloe sets her alarm for 6:30. She doesn’t want Beca thinking she can stroll in at 7:00 and have the place to herself - even if it is _her_ place.

 

She sprints to the rink and throws open the door just as Beca throws herself into a camel spin.

 

She shakes her head, kind of loving that Beca is in on her little game. It’s not about wanting to be alone on the ice; it’s only about wanting to be the best at everything. She watches Beca for a bit, and she knows Beca knows she’s watching. Even in the six months she’s known her, Chloe’s seen her skating evolve. There’s something different about it now, it’s just a hair less clinical. There’s just a hair more passion in it.

 

Chloe laces up and joins her and Beca smiles when she notices her at her side.

 

“Morning,” Chloe says, skating leisurely.

 

Beca pushes herself a few feet ahead and then spins to skate backward in front of Chloe. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

 

“Like a rock. Those spin classes are killing me.” She smirks a little. “Whoever makes those playlists for Fernando seems to have it out for me.”

 

Beca tilts her head and smiles. “You think? I don’t seem to have any trouble at all.”

 

“It’s probably just because I wear myself out on the bench press before spin. 120 can be a lot some days.”

 

She watches the polite trash talk settle with Beca; there’s not really anything Beca can do about Chloe’s bench press bragging. She’s barely broken 85 pounds on it; she has a long way to go to catch up with Chloe, and her body type isn’t really designed for much heavy lifting.

 

She keeps up with Beca with ease now. Even the grip change that’s plagued her for months - today she nails it and the way Beca looks at her in utter shock at her success brings Chloe unfathomable joy. She raises her eyebrows at Beca and she feels the energy in the room rise.

 

They sail through it - their spins and turns and twists and jumps and throws until they’re scraping to a stop center-ice.

 

She’s nailed it.

 

Their whole short program. For the first time ever.

 

Beca bobbles the finish, just the tiniest bit, failing to get her toe pick jammed into the ice on her first try for their final pose, and Chloe can feel the ire rolling off her in waves.

 

But she doesn’t really care. She just skated a technically perfect program for the first time in this new life of hers and it feels better than any goal she ever scored. She pumps her fist and waits a second to see if Beca’s going to say anything but she still seems irritated by her minuscule imperfection so she skates off, cheering to herself until she passes Gail, who gives her a high five.

 

* * *

 

[Track 12]

 

**_December 2016_ **

**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ **

 

“I don’t get it, Coach,” Chloe says while she lets Gail look at her skate. It felt off today. “Beca has everything. A house, the rink. I don't get why she’s always so angry. You know, I don't even think she likes to skate.”

 

“You worked in a warehouse,” Gail says, not seeming to pay much attention. “Did that make you happy?”

 

“I only worked there because I had to.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Gail’s lack of answer gives her a lot to think about.

 

* * *

 

Christmas arrives and as much as Chloe would like to go home, they have way too much work to do with Nationals less than a month away. She stays in Connecticut and knocks excitedly on Beca’s bedroom door so she can give her her present.

 

“Just a sec!”

 

She hears it but she’s already standing in Beca’s room.

 

And Beca’s naked.

 

“Dude!” She scrambles for the towel next to her on the bed. “Get out!” She throws it around herself. “What are you doing? I said get out!”

 

“It’s okay, Becs,” she says with a giggle. “I’ve got the same parts. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Though Beca fresh out of the shower with her wet hair still dripping down her chest is... _wow_. “Here,” she says, thrusting forward the neatly wrapped gift.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“What do you get the girl who has everything?” She watches Beca tear at the wrapping until she’s unfolding its contents.

 

“An old shirt?”

 

“An old shirt?” Chloe watches Beca hold the jersey up and away from her like it’s contaminated. “Cammi Granato wore that sweater. It’s...it’s Cammi Granato’s game sweater. From the ‘98 Games. I’ve had it for 15 years.” It’s the sweater she wore the day she and Beca played hockey. Beca stares at her like she’s speaking Greek. “You know what? Forget it, I’ll take it back.” She grabs it but Beca doesn’t let go.

 

“No, no, I like it.”

 

“No, it’s okay, I’ll get you something else.” She’s panicking; she knows she’s about to cry and she pulls at it.

 

“I said I like it!” Beca jerks it back harder.

 

“You’re going to tear it!”

 

“Well, then, let go!”

 

Chloe does and it flies back to hit Beca in the face like a rubber band. “Thank you,” Beca says after composing herself for a second.

 

“Anyway. Merry Christmas.” Chloe feels dejected and turns to leave.

 

“Wait a minute.”

 

She stops and turns back and Beca starts to smile at her, and she can’t help but think how nice it is to see a genuine smile out of her for once. Beca walks over to the corner of her room and picks up a red and green gift bag and holds it out to her with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

 

It makes Chloe giddy and she pulls out the tissue paper to toss it aside until she’s pulling out a copy of “ _Great Expectations_?”

 

“Well, it was either that or _Curious George Plays Hockey_.” Beca smirks at her. “I took a chance.”

 

Chloe smiles at her, feeling all kinds of feelings she shouldn’t be feeling. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 13]

 

New Year’s Eve at the Mitchell mansion is pretty much what Chloe expected it to be. Very Kardashian-extravagant with its live band and professional decor and black tie dress code. She went shopping for it and found a shimmery knee-length black dress with a sweetheart neckline that teased a hint of cleavage, just enough to make her feel sexy.

 

It got her plenty of attention - Jack Mitchell has a lot of friends, many of them old enough to be her father, all of them wealthy enough to support her for the rest of her life. She lets them hand her glasses of champagne or hors-d'oeuvres off trays that pass by via waiters and enjoys their attention long enough to be polite before excusing herself.

 

She doesn’t know anyone there, other than Mr. Mitchell, Beca, and Gail. It takes her an hour to finally find Beca. When she spots her, she stops breathing for a second. She’s on the staircase talking to a guest and she’s wearing a dark red, one-shoulder, tea length dress. Her hair is swept up into a tangle of messy braids that is as elegant as it is casual. “Stunning” is the only word Chloe can think of to describe her.

 

A young man in a tuxedo descends the stairs behind her and stops, his hand on her bare shoulder as he whispers in her ear before kissing her and Beca laughs as he continues on his way.

 

Her vision blurs.

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s only been in Mr. Mitchell’s trophy room once - her first day at the ranch. But curiosity - and maybe the champagne and jealousy - get the best of her and she uses it as an excuse to escape the party for a bit. She really doesn’t want to see Beca interact with that guy again.

 

The trophy room is just that - a room full of trophies, medals, and ribbons touting Beca’s achievements. There are photos of her as a child, and as a toddler, barely old enough to walk but wearing skates nonetheless.

 

The enigma that is Beca Mitchell cracks a little in that room - it humanizes her, even while aggrandizing her. It’s her past. All her triumphs before her failure.

 

“Jesse?”

 

She turns at the sound of Beca’s voice and sees her in the doorway, surprised to see Chloe. “Hey,” she says. “Sorry, I was just looking at your stuff. Is this your mom?” she points at a photo on the wall - she knows it has to be; Beca has her eyes. “She’s gorgeous.”

 

“She was pretty, yeah.”

 

“What is this expression on your face, Becs? Dare I say it’s a smile?” She turns back to her with a crooked smile of her own and watches Beca try to fight one.

 

“We usually keep this door closed during parties.”

 

“What, am I a stranger? Oh, sorry, you probably didn’t recognize me without my sweats.” She twirls in her dress to make the skirt flutter. She knows she looks nice tonight and she doesn’t miss the hint of a blush that’s on Beca’s cheeks when she stops.

 

“Turn around,” Beca says and walks toward her.

 

Chloe does so, though she doesn’t know why she’s being asked. She feels Beca’s hands on her lower back. “What are you doing?”

  
“Turn around,” Beca repeats with a push of her hands and Chloe feels her touch move higher, following the zipper up her dress until cool fingers brush the exposed skin of her back. It makes her shiver and she feels them working until they fall away. “The hook was undone.”

 

Chloe tries not to think about how hard her heart is pounding.

 

* * *

 

Once they return to the party, Chloe snags two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and offers one to Beca.

 

“Oh, no, I don’t drink.”

 

“What? It’s only champagne.”

 

“I’ve never had a drink in my life.”

 

Chloe laughs and then realizes she’s serious. “What, are you afraid of the carbs?”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand -”

 

They’re interrupted by an obnoxious, “Becaw!”

 

“Jesse! Hey!” Chloe watches the man from the staircase kiss Beca. She tries not to grimace because it’s over quickly and Beca’s looking at her again. “Chloe Beale, Jesse Swanson,” she introduces.

 

“Well!” Jesse says with a bright smile. “Finally! The secret weapon.” He offers his hand to shake and Chloe can’t bring herself to take it. Instead, she hands him the glass that Beca refused.

 

“In the flesh,” she says with the most charming smile she can muster.

 

* * *

 

Chloe avoids Beca after that; it’s easy to do, even if she doesn’t really want to. But there are the middle-aged men who want to chase her and their sons who are cute but as droll as a public radio broadcast about antiques.

 

There are girls there, too. They like her attention and lean into her casual, conversational touches. Those who do so more freely hold her attention longer and she flirts with them. She knows Beca’s on the other side of the room with Jesse, can feel her eyes on her, and something about that is as thrilling as it is maddening.

 

Chloe counts down to the new year with everyone else on the dance floor, sparklers in hand, and happily - and tipsily - kisses the girl she’s been talking to for the past 30 minutes, because that’s just what you do on New Year’s - you kiss people. She turns and kisses the man behind her; she’d talked to him earlier in the night, and he was no less droll than the others. She even lets another girl tug her shoulder to spin her around for a kiss of her own. Frankly, she’s making the rounds and has to dodge an old man’s lips by kissing his cheek before turning away in a rush to spin right into Beca.

 

Face to face.

 

She feels time stop. Sees the way Beca looks at her, first surprised to see Chloe, then something else. Sees the way Beca’s eyes flicker to her lips in consideration. Sees the way her own eyes do the same. Feels the way they’re leaning closer to each other and how her heart starts racing until Beca shifts an inch and kisses her cheek before dashing off without a word.

 

* * *

 

[Track 14]

 

_**January 2017** _

**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ **

 

Chloe’s packing for a weekend trip home weekend there’s a knock on her door. “Who is it?”

 

“Um, it’s me. Beca.”

 

She pauses. She hasn’t seen her since the party last night, and it’s late in the day. Beca’s also never, not once, come to visit her. Intrigued, she opens the door. “Hi.”

 

Beca smiles, and while it’s real, Chloe can feel the awkwardness of it. “Hi. Gail said you were leaving for the weekend?”

 

“Is that not okay, or -”

 

“No, no. I think it’s great. You haven’t been home since you got here. They probably think I’m keeping you under lock and key.” She squeezes past Chloe as she says it.

 

“Come on in,” she says with a laugh.

 

“I haven’t been up here in awhile.” She watches Beca look at the room; she knows she’s not the first partner to live there - they all have, all those lucky enough to be chosen by the great Beca Mitchell. “What’s this?” she asks, pointing at a photo she’s tucked into the frame of her mirror.

 

“Oh, that’s me,” Chloe says shyly. It’s not a flattering photo, really. She’s drunk in it, super classy with a 40oz beer in a paper bag on her hands and knees with her nose to the ice, “smelling the ice. I told my friend Aubrey, it became a thing, she got a camera...”

 

Beca cocked her head. “I’ve never thought about it.”

 

“I’m not surprised.”

 

Beca snaps to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

A car honks outside and it distracts Beca for a second. “Becaw!”

 

“I’ll be right there! What did you mean by that?”

 

Chloe chews her lip for a second and decides to go for it. “I just think you’d skate even better if you let yourself enjoy it a little bit.”

 

“Whoa, whoa. I come up here to say ‘Have a great weekend,’ and you’re going to give me pointers?”

 

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“No -” Beca stops and Chloe can see her reining in her anger. That was a new development. “I came to gave you this.” She hands Chloe a small wrapped package.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Our greatest hits. It’s a DVD, for your family. Of us skating.”

 

“Oh. Wow…” Chloe’s not even sure what to say. “Thank you.”

 

“My dad said he booked some extra rooms in Kansas City. We’d love for them to stay with us.”

 

“My family?”

 

“Yeah, for Nationals. They’re coming, aren’t they?”

 

Chloe maybe hasn’t exactly told anyone in her life what it is she’s actually doing during her extended absence. Figure skating isn’t exactly revered in the hockey community. “I...don’t know.”

 

“I mean, look at everything you’ve done here. They have to be excited to see you.”

 

“Becaw, the movie starts at 7:30!”

 

“You better go,” Chloe says, thankful for the interruption.

 

Beca looks concerned, as though she’s just seen right through her. “Why wouldn’t they come?”

 

“They’re coming. Jesse’s waiting, you better go.”

 

“How do you know they’re going to come if you haven’t told them?”

 

“I’m going to tell them.”

 

“When?”

 

“Now. This weekend.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Becs, believe me. I'm dying to tell them.”

 

Literally, Chloe wanted to do nothing less than tell her hockey family that she’s now a _figure skater_. A _pairs_ figure skater.

 

* * *

 

[Track 15]

 

_**January 2017** _

**_Grand Forks, North Dakota_ **

 

The Greyhound drops her off, inconveniently, right in front of her bar. There’s no avoiding it, so she starts walking and hopes she’ll figure out what she’s going to say when she gets there.

 

“Chloe? Chloe! Oh my God, girl!!!” Cynthia-Rose has her wrapped up in a hug before she can even say hello back.

 

It’s a Friday night and the bar is packed with regulars, and apparently, she’s been missed by them all. She’s swept up in hugs and makes her way through them toward Aubrey, whom she sees working at the bar.

 

Aubrey looks up at the hubbub and Chloe sees her light up in excitement. She throws the bar towel over her shoulder and rushes over to yank her into a hug. “Chloe, oh my God! I’ve missed you so much!”

 

There are questions from the patrons about her ship and the ocean, and she almost forgot, until this morning, that every single person in this room thinks she joined Greenpeace and has been on an international sea trip for the past year.

 

Even Aubrey’s doing it, laughing and saying, “You’re the captain now,” in a bad accent and asking if she’s land sick, and Chloe has to ask her to stop.

 

“I didn’t...Bree, I didn’t join Greenpeace.”

 

“What?”

 

She looks around - a bar full of people, old friends and acquaintances, all clamoring to know about her exciting adventure. The only thing is that this is a hockey town, and she’s the hockey star. “I didn’t...can we go outside, please?”

 

“Nah, tell us!” Cynthia-Rose shouts from across the room. “We’re all family here!”

 

She shuffles her feet. “Well...it’s...it’s interesting, actually. I’ve been doing a little...I’ve been doing a little figure skating.”

 

She feels the quiet room fall more silent.

 

Aubrey looks confused. “You’ve been doing what?”

 

“Outside. Please?”

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s pacing in front of Aubrey who’s sitting in one of the lawn chairs the kitchen staff uses for breaks. “These people - they think we can go all the way, Bree.”

 

“All the way to where?”

 

Chloe throws her hands up in a huff. “To the Nationals! Aubrey - the champ...ugh, you don’t understand.” She sits down in another chair and holds her head in her hands.

 

“Figure skating?”

 

“I’m telling you, I’m good.”

 

“Chloe - you’re a hockey player. How good can you be?” Aubrey’s not being mean, Chloe knows; she’s trying tough love. And it’s not working. “So, what, you try this and a year from now you’re dressed up as Ariel doing Disney On Ice?”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You know me better than that. You think I’d spend 15 hours a day, every day, to come in second? I’m talking about an Olympic gold medal.” She stares at Aubrey, imploring her to understand.

 

Aubrey considers it for a second and then points at her accusingly. “It’s the girl, isn’t it. You’re sleeping with her!”

 

“No, Aubrey! It’s a great opportunity!”

 

“It’s figure skating!”

 

“And I like it!” She surprises herself with the outburst - and Aubrey. “It’s a lot harder than playing hockey, I can tell you that. And the stuff we’re doing, it’s going to be different. The costumes, our music - hell, we’re both girls! Everything is going to be different. We can change the face of figure skating. You’ll see.”

 

“They going to make you wear glitter in your hair? Wear a frilly little tutu?”

 

“Ugh!” She shoves herself off the chair to walk away. “I like glitter. You know what? Screw this. I don’t even know why -”

 

She stops when she hears Aubrey laughing. “Gotcha.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 16]

 

_**January 2017** _

**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ **

 

Beca flips the input on the stereo system from Chloe’s phone to her own. They’re sitting on the floor in, appropriately, the sitting room in front of the fireplace. They need to finalize their music selections for their programs and they’ve yet to come to a mutual agreement on anything.

 

“This is _Swan Lake_  Act II, Scene 14.”

 

Chloe groans at the instantly recognizable melody. “This isn’t us.”

 

“The deal was that we had to listen to the song.”

 

“Beca!” Chloe pushes her hair back in frustration. “This is tired. 10,000 other skaters are going to skate to the same boring thing. This doesn’t get it done.” She grabs the remote and flips it back to Natalia Kills’s “Problem” - and turns up the volume. “I know you don’t want to skate to that crap and I know you like this music. Let’s kick a little ass.”

 

“If you want to see some asses kicked, why don’t you throw on some jeans and skate to that? That’ll get your ass kicked.” Beca takes the remote back, changes it, and turns it up even louder. “If you want to win, you have to play it straight.” She’s having to raise her voice to be heard over the crescendoing violins.

 

Chloe groans. “This is boring! And unnecessarily dramatic!” She grabs the remote and changes it again - louder still.

 

“Unacceptable!” Beca grabs it out of her hand, switches it, and cranks it higher. She tries to keep the remote out of Chloe’s reach but fails because Chloe has two valuable inches on her.

 

Chloe switches it back. Louder.

 

“Would you stop?!”

 

“It didn’t work for you last time!” Chloe shouts over the music.

 

“What?!”

 

“You heard me!”

 

Beca’s physical about taking back control this time, almost in Chloe’s lap to steal it. “What the fuck, dude!”

 

“Will you just listen to my music for a second?!” Chloe grabs it right back and flips it.

 

Beca leaps at her again and Chloe nearly ends up on her back, Beca on top of her. Her heart is pounding again and she has to fight to not let her eyes drop down to look at the cleavage that Beca’s position and their tussling has revealed. “Stop changing it!”

 

“Hey - HEY!” They both look up at the foreign voice interrupting them to see Jesse in sweats and a worn-out T-shirt. Chloe forgot he was staying at the house, still in town for winter break. “It’s after midnight, guys. I have to be up at 6:30.”

 

Beca detangles herself from Chloe to sit back in her own space and Chloe sees the fire that was just in her eyes fizzle. “Sorry, Jess. We’ll be done soon. Music selection; you know how it is.”

 

Chloe doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that Jesse walked in and Beca pulled away from her like she’d been burned. She doesn’t like that Beca is disappointed they were interrupted - but she kind of likes that, too. A little bit. Chloe gets up to leave; she doesn’t need to stay while Beca and Jesse say their good nights or join in a conversation about what song Beca thinks they should use and why they couldn’t possibly use something like Chloe’s.

 

“Play him _Swan Lake_ ,” she says with a smile at Jesse. “You’ll be asleep in no time.”

 

She hears Jesse ask, “What’s wrong with _Swan Lake_?” as she leaves.

 

* * *

 

[Track 17]

 

They practice. They practice until Beca’s actually gagging in a corner with Chloe holding back her hair, trying not to puke from exertion. They practice until Chloe can land every jump perfectly ten times in a row, and then they do it again.

 

* * *

 

Jack Mitchell takes them out to a nice dinner and it’s laughter and excitement all around. “If I get her any higher in that throw double Sal, they’ll be scraping her off the ceiling, am I right?” Chloe says with a laugh. “Are we ready for Nationals or what?” She grabs the champagne bottle out of the hands of the waiter who’s brought it takes it upon herself to pour for the table.

 

“We will be, Chloe,” Gail says with a matching laugh and a pat to Chloe’s shoulder.

 

Beca seems quiet today, more so than usual anyway, but Chloe doesn’t push her. She carries the conversation, already pumped just thinking about her first competition next month.

 

“Who's ready to order?” Beca asks over the noise. “I’m starving.”

 

“Three more weeks to go, everything’s clicking, We’re totes going to kick some ass.”

 

Beca reaches across the corner of her table to touch her shoulder. “Whoa, slow down, champ. We've got a long way to go.”

 

“You trying to rain on my parade, Becs?” she says with a laugh.

 

Jack says something to Chloe about ignoring Beca, but she doesn’t quite catch it because she’s confused by Jesse leaving his seat to stand next to Beca. “Everyone's in such a great mood; I'll throw another log on the fire,” he says with a grand smile.

 

Beca looks scared and grabs the bottom of his suit jacket and make him sit. “Jesse, not now,”

 

“The fact is…” he hesitates and takes a breath. “I've asked Beca to marry me, and she said yes.”

 

Chloe feels the earth crack and try to swallow her whole. Her eyes jump to Beca’s face, but she’s just staring at the table like she’s embarrassed.

 

Jack and Gail, however, break out into applause and offer congratulations and Beca seems gracious.

 

“That’s great,” Chloe says into the chaos of congrats. She knows it doesn’t sound very genuine. “Great. That’s really great.”

 

Chloe doesn’t say much for the rest of dinner.

 

* * *

 

[Track 18]

 

Beca’s skating alone; she managed to sneak away when Chloe was busy with a costume fitting. She’s not practicing, not really. She needs to think and she does her best thinking on the ice as she skates in slow laps.

 

She has a lot on her mind - namely, the fact that she’s not quite sure if she should have agreed when Jesse proposed to her the other night.

 

He feels so boring, so predictable for her - marry the handsome, nice, straight-laced guy getting the Master’s Degree on a path to success, thanks to her father.

 

Her father, who’s controlled every aspect of her life, even now at the age of 22. He made sure she skated. Made sure she understood how hard he worked to be able to give her what he wanted her to have. And now she was engaged to a man her father had all but chosen for her before she’d even finished high school. A man who would work for her father. A man who would inherit his business someday, she supposed.

 

Everything about her life is regimented. She has to follow the rules or she won’t win, won’t be allowed to compete.

 

But she can’t seem to stop thinking how Chloe makes her feel like it’s okay to break the rules. How she wants to stop doing everything that is expected of her.

 

How Chloe irritates her so much when she argues with her about how she wants to break traditions to make them better.

 

How Chloe makes her stomach flip when she smiles at her.

 

“You’re still dropping that shoulder.” She stops and turns to see her former coach watching her. “I thought you retired.”

 

“I changed my mind.” She knows it was more her father’s decision than her own.

 

“You know what I think the saddest thing about sports is? People don’t know when to quit.”

 

 _Asshole._ She skates up to him at the boards; distance makes her feel weak. “What are you doing here, John?” She won’t give him the dignity of a title.

 

“I’m saying I’d like to see you go out a champion.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s my plan.”

 

“Why didn’t you come back to me? I know we made some mistakes -”

 

“Mistakes?” she barks with a laugh.

 

“You were always difficult.”

 

She makes him wait as she takes a drink from her water bottle. “You know what the first thing you said to me was? I was nine years old and you came into my building.  _This_ building. And I was skating. And when I was finished, I turned around, and, holy shit, there was John Smith. And you know what you said? You said, ‘Boy, do we have our work cut out for us.’”

 

John’s eye twitches, just the tiniest bit. “Are you still blaming Sochi on Donald?” She doesn’t reply. “You meant a lot to this sport, Beca. You still do. But, Nationals? Now? After all this time? I just hate to see you...humiliated.”

 

“Humiliated?!” She almost laughs.

 

“Oh, come on, Beca. A girl? A hockey player? You can’t be serious. This is a man’s job. And let’s face it - trusting partners was never your strong suit.”

 

She sniffs, feeling anger boiling inside her. “This girl, this _hockey player,_ is the best skater I’ve been on the ice with. She’s going to make you cry, she’s so good.” He doesn’t say anything. “You know your way out.”

 

His pompous ass leaves and she skates back toward the middle of the rink to see Chloe dropping her skate guards to step onto the ice, just arriving from the locker room. They skate up to each other and stop.

 

She knows Chloe heard every word of that exchange. “I swear, you let me down and it’ll take a month for them to count the blade marks up your back.” She hopes for the sassy response but gets nothing. Maybe she was a little too harsh.

 

Chloe just stares at her, attitude simmering beneath the surface. Chloe’s been cold since Jesse announced their engagement at dinner a few nights ago. “Do me a favor? Take off the rock while we work. It’s cutting the hell out of my hand.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 19]

 

_**January 2017** _

**_Kansas City, Missouri_ **

**_US Figure Skating Championships_ **

 

“Chloe, your free leg must be high. Beca, head low. Yes, good, your body must be tight.”

 

They’re practicing and Chloe almost gets run over by a pair cutting her off. It was one thing to be on the ice with nine other players for hockey, but this? This was...

 

“It’s like rush hour out here,” she says, hopping out of someone else’s way as they skate past in a lift.

 

“Junk and Applebaum, Beca explains. “They cry on command.” Another pair blows past. “Ah, the Allen twins. Don't get too close, they’ll rip your throat out without thinking twice.”

 

Chloe laughs and then sees a familiar figure across the ice. “Hey, isn’t that -

 

“Donald Park, my old partner.”

 

“Ahh, the ex-husband,” Chloe jokes. “Who’s the new wife?”

 

“Conrad. _Stacie_ Conrad.” Beca almost spits the name.

 

Chloe smiles at her. “Tell me how you really feel.” She doesn’t have time to tease her further because the dynamic duo twizzles their way right up to them.

 

“Well, Beca,” Donald says, scraping to a stop and shaving a little snow onto Chloe’s skates. “Surprise, surprise. You can’t find a man who will put up with your shit, so you’re switching teams?”

 

“Fuck off, Donald.”

 

Donald checks Chloe out, and not in the way an opponent sizes up their challenger. He’s not at all being subtle about how long he stares at Chloe’s body. “No wonder you've been keeping her to yourself.”

 

Stacie winks at her. “Mm, I’ll say.” The pair skates away laughing conspiratorially.

 

“What's wrong?” Beca asks when she notices Chloe’s distraction.

 

“Nothing.” It’s not _really_ nothing; Stacie’s kind of hot. And Chloe’s been too busy with skating to even think about dating...

 

“Don't worry. You'll get used to that kind of bullshit.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe takes the elevator up to her room after practice. She’s supposed to take a nap; Beca said it was important to rest up before a competition, both physically and mentally, but she has a lot on her mind - Nationals, Beca. Donald and Stacie and how Donald used to be Beca’s partner, and how Stacie had looked at her at practice. How important this weekend is to Beca. How Beca is marrying Jesse and how she’s pretty damn certain she’s falling for Beca.

 

How she’ll ruin everything they’ve worked for if she does fall and how she’ll ruin what Beca’s spent her entire life working for.

 

The elevator stops on her floor and the doors open with a ding and Chloe almost laughs.

 

“Going down?”

 

She’s not, since she just arrived on her floor, but Stacie smiles at her when she steps into the elevator car and Chloe makes a dumb decision and smiles back at her.

 

“You talked me into it.”

 

“So, hockey, huh?” Stacie asks as she stands a little too close to be normal for two strangers in an elevator. “How good would you say you are at scoring?”

 

Chloe tries to hide her smile; Stacie’s good, and Chloe knows what Stacie’s doing. She knows she shouldn’t engage her but she likes to be friendly and make new friends, even if those friends are also competitors.

 

She also knows Beca would say Stacie’s trying to sabotage her.

 

Chloe smirks at her. “Well, I _was_ the captain for a reason.”

 

* * *

 

They run into Beca and Jesse in the lobby and Beca looks as surprised to see them as she feels to see Jesse. The surprise seems to shift to something else when Beca looks at Stacie again, still hovering by Chloe’s side. Jealousy, maybe? “Oh, hey, Jesse. How are you?” Chloe feigns politeness.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” he says with a tight smile.

 

“Okay, well, I’ll see you around,” Stacie says in parting with a touch to her shoulder before heading off to her practice session.

 

“Did you just get in?” she asks Jesse. She doesn’t care, of course, but it’s the right thing to ask. She’s irritated he’s here, even though she knew he would be. Truthfully, she would probably be more irritated if he _wasn’t_ here because that would be disrespectful to Beca to not show up and support her.

 

“Yeah, actually, I -”

 

Beca interrupts them. “I thought you were going to take a nap? You really should be taking a break before tonight.”

 

“I know, but I wasn’t tired. I think I’m going to go watch practice.”

 

* * *

 

Beca’s ripping apart her hotel room. She’s fucking furious. “She has the self-control of a rabbit.”

 

“Beca, what are you looking for?” Jesse asks from the couch where he’s using his laptop.

 

“Nothing.” She digs through the couch cushions. “My phone.” She gets on her hands and knees to retrace her steps from the morning to look under furniture in case she dropped it. “I spend four years working my way back to Nationals, and what happens? I'm skating to pop music with a partner who can't even follow the most basic of instructions! ‘Be sure to rest this afternoon.’ How hard is that?!”

 

“Maybe she's got a problem sleeping.” Jesse’s annoyingly calm and far too neutral on this topic.

 

“The only problem that she has is finding her zipper fast enough.” She doesn’t know why she cares; Chloe can sleep with whomever she wants. She shouldn’t be sleeping with _the enemy_ , but still. She shouldn’t care.

 

Jesse shrugs. “I thought they looked good together.”

 

“You think this is funny? We have to skate tonight.” She’s still crawling around on the floor, almost manic with irritation. “We’re supposed to be resting.”

 

“Like you are?”

 

Beca sits up to see him looking at his computer, disinterested in her distress, and something snaps. “That's it. That is _it!_  Call the front desk and get your own room. I knew this wouldn't work out. I can't even concentrate. I can't even find my phone!”

 

“Beca.” She looks up to see Jesse holding her iPhone.

 

She snatches it away from him and swipes at it angrily from her knees on the floor.

 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with skating, does it.”

 

“What does that mean?” Beca says dismissively.

 

“You're falling for her.”

 

She looks up at him sharply. “What?”

 

“Chloe.”

 

She laughs and suddenly feels sick.

 

“You are. You're falling for her.”

 

“That's crazy.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“You're nuts, Jess.”

 

“Am l?”

 

Beca huffs. “You see how we act together.”

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

“We never get along. I mean, we're always fighting.”

 

Jesse looks at her and raises his eyebrows. “Foreplay.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe and Gail are already in the car when Beca and her father arrive.

 

“Okay, we're all set,” Jack says to the driver; he seems bothered, but Chloe doesn’t really care too much.

 

“You don’t want to wait for Jesse?” Gail asks.

 

“He's not coming. He had to go up to Boston. Business problems.”

 

Chloe looks up from her phone at Jack’s response.

 

“Are you okay with that?” Gail asks Beca.

 

She’s staring out the window. “If you wanna worry about something, worry about the lunch lady, here.” She turns to look at Chloe.

 

“Who?”

 

“You do like a good box lunch, don’t you?”

 

Chloe just stares at her.

 

* * *

 

[Track 20]

 

~~~~~

_“So here we are at night number seven of the US National Championships. The country's 12 best couples are in the arena tonight. Only two of these couples will go on to the Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea next year. Tonight we're seeing two and a half minutes in the short program before tomorrow night’s free skate.”_

 ~~~~~

 

Beca can’t believe she’s back, once again standing in an arena to compete for a national title.

 

To qualify to return to the Olympics where she can redeem herself once and for all.

  
She watches pair after pair skate from the sidelines and Chloe finally shows up next to her dressed in her red and black costume that coordinates with Beca’s. She glances at her to say hello and then has to do a double-take.

 

Chloe’s either white or green; she can’t figure it out. And she’s sweating.

 

“You look nervous.” Chloe doesn’t reply. “You look really nervous.” Still nothing. “How nervous are you?” Silence. _“How nervous are you?!”_

 

Finally, Chloe reacts - by pulling a face and then darting away. Beca hears it happen more than she sees it, but Chloe vomits in a trash can in the hallway that leads back to the locker rooms.

 

She returns a couple minutes later, less green but still sweaty. “I feel better.”

 

“What is wrong with you?” she whispers at her; they are far from alone where they stand and while Chloe just made a scene that the custodial staff is now attending to, and she doesn’t need to make it worse by letting everyone hear them talk about what happened.

 

“I always get wound up before a game because I’m so anxious about winning. When I played hockey, I used to have two helmets. One for the game, and one for just before.”

 

“Gross. This just coming up now?”

 

“Bad choice of words, Becs.”

 

“God,” Beca huffs. “Fine. Do you at least have a mint or something?”

 

Chloe freezes for a second, then nods and steps away to dig through her bag right as Beca’s signaled that it’s their turn to take the ice.

 

“I don't believe this,” Beca says to herself. She never thought Chloe would have any kind of performance anxiety. She was far too extroverted for that, and a known competitor, and yet, here they were.

 

She turns to look at Chloe when she returns because she still looks out of it. “Look at me.”

 

“Miss Mitchell, Miss Beale, you're on.”

 

“Look at my eyes, Chlo. Look at my eyes.” She grabs Chloe’s hands and turns her to face her head-on; Chloe seems dizzy. Unfocused. But she finally meets Beca’s eyes. “Good. Okay, now smile.” Chloe’s smile is awkward. Not at all her usual, but, “That’s good. Concentrate on my forehead. Okay. Now, look at me and smile. There you go. There. Bigger.” Her brilliant smile finally returns, but it’s not genuine.

 

“Look, it goes away,” Chloe whispers. “The worst it ever was, I went out and scored six goals in the first two periods.”

 

_“Next to skate, Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale.”_

 

“Miss Mitchell, Miss Beale. _Please._ ”

 

“You're saying once we get out there, everything will be fine?”

 

“It usually only took me, like, ten minutes to relax.”

 

Beca feels her heart seize. “Chloe, our program is two and a half minutes!”

 

“So eight minutes after we're done, I'll be fine!”

 

* * *

 

[Track 21]

~~~~~

_“So here they are, former US champion Beca Mitchell and ex-hockey star Chloe Beale at their first Nationals. And what a place to make your competitive debut. We’d be remiss if we didn’t discuss the obvious - Mitchell and Beale are one of the first - and this year’s only - same-sex pairs at this level of figure skating competition.”_

 

_“You might be wondering what to expect from two women skating together - while the International Skating Union now allows two ladies to skate as a pair, no other applicable rules were changed. Lifts are still a vital component of the program and I hope it doesn’t come across sexist to acknowledge the elephant in the room: a woman executing lifts to the same extent that a man can, due to upper body muscle mass, could be at a disadvantage to the rest of the field. But let me tell you - as someone who sat in this morning’s warm-ups: Mitchell and Beale spell electricity.”_

 ~~~~~

 

They skate into position. Facing each other. Palms pressed against palms. Beca stares at Chloe, watching her fight to pull herself together and while she trusts Chloe - mostly - she’s not positive Chloe won’t pass out right here, right now.

 

The intro to their track plays and Beca knows it’s now or never. The beat kicks in and she breathes a sigh of relief when she feels Chloe’s hands press against hers as they propel each other back a few feet and into their program.

 

Chloe had won the argument - they skate to David Guetta’s “Titanium.” Beca had fought her on it for a solid week, but she’d eventually cracked. Deep down, she knew they needed to play their cards right - they needed a full house to even begin overcoming the bias that would be inherent against them just by being two female skaters.

 

She never really liked Tchaikovsky anyway.

 

They weren’t conservative when choreographing their routine, either. They couldn’t afford to be, not if they wanted to go all the way. Eight months ago, she’d asked Gail to put together the best program she’d ever conceived. She asked to be pushed, and it hadn’t been easy, especially with Chloe who had nearly two decades of catching up to do.

 

They nail their opening side-by-side double Axels.

 

Beca hears Chloe’s, “Yes!” and as soon as they’re in eye line with each other, Beca can see her grinning. She’s grinning, too.

 

She watches the nerves fall away for Chloe after that. She sees her almost laughing when they come out of a spin to start backward and set up their next jumping pass and lets a laugh of her own escape.

 

She can feel it hit like a lightning strike, and she tells herself it’s the thrill of success and knowing they’re about to throw down amazing scores.

 

But she knows that’s not what struck her and is bouncing through her veins like electricity.

 

Beca can’t remember the last time she had so much fun in a competition.

 

~~~~~

_“What a night for US pairs skating. It's extraordinary. Donald Park and Stacie Conrad into first place. Bunny and Bumper Allen skate safely into the number two spot. And out of nowhere, Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale grab the number three. Two couples are all the United States are allowed to send to the Olympic Games. Tomorrow night's free skate should be very exciting.”_

~~~~~

 

“Man, this overnight thing is the worst!” Chloe says as they walk through the hotel hallway toward their rooms. She’s high on adrenaline. “Why can't it be a double-header? Short program, free skate, same night. We're out of here. Know what I mean?” They stop at Beca’s door.

 

Beca smiles at her. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 

“It's like, enough already. I’m ready to get to it. It's like...what's the word?” She snaps her fingers trying to find it. “You know what word I'm looking for?”

 

Beca works on finding her key to unlock her door. “I don't know. Expectation?”

 

“No, no. Like when you -”

 

“Anticipation? Excitement?”

 

Chloe shakes her head at Beca’s suggestions. “I know: foreplay,” Chloe settles on.

 

Beca looks up at her and seems shocked. “Foreplay?”

 

Chloe grins; Beca’s blushing. “Yeah, you know. Like foreplay.”

 

“Yeah, I know what it means.”

 

“Well, wouldn't you rather just get right to it?” Chloe knows she’s being suggestive; she also knows Beca doesn’t know how to process such a thing.

 

“What?”

 

“Skating. Our free skate.” Beca still looks startled and it only fuels Chloe’s pride. “Kansas City. Nationals.” She holds up the one bouquet she kept from what was tossed onto the ice after their performance and hands them to Beca. “Flowers?”

 

Beca finally snaps out of it. “Sleep. I'd rather sleep.” She goes into her room and shuts the door.

 

“Sleep?” Chloe feels like doing _anything_ but sleep.

 

* * *

 

[Track 22]

 _~~~~~_  

_“Donald Park and Stacie Conrad. An absolutely beautiful routine in the free skate. This assures them a place on the Olympic team.”_

 

_“The remaining spot will go to one of the two teams Ieft to skate: Mitchell-Beale or the Allens.”_

_~~~~~_

 

They skate. They fucking _skate._ They skate to “Shut Up and Dance.”

 

_~~~~~_

_“Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale. What a performance. Look at that sit spin. This crowd knows it's seeing history in the making. We're in for a major upset tonight.”_

_~~~~~_

 

They nail it - again. Chloe looks at Beca while they bow and Beca’s beaming - absolutely beaming right back at her.

 

“Are those for me?” Chloe asks sweetly one of the young flower girls with an armful of roses. The little girl nods and Chloe accepts them.

 

Beca catches up to her in the kiss and cry and grabs her in an unexpected hug. “You were so great!”

 

Chloe can hear sudden unrest in the audience and looks up to see their Technical Element Scores coming up. They’re not what they could be.

 

Then there’s booing. Their Program Composition Scores won’t be enough to overcome the deficit; all the Allens have to do is skate a clean program and they’re in.

 

Chloe feels it slip through their fingers.

 

* * *

 

“This is bullshit!” Chloe yells in the athletes’ holding area as she throws her bouquet to the floor. “What crap are they trying to pull? We skated our asses off out there. You call this a sport? Bullshit.”

 

Beca watches her tantrum; she’s having one herself, but she’s too composed to ever throw it in public. She agrees with every word Chloe is yelling as she storms through the room to brood in a corner. Beca takes a breath and follows her so she’s not alone. There’s nothing for them to do now but wait until it’s all over. Wait to go home. Wait to retire. Beca’s fighting tears and it’s almost comical, really, that she’s choked up with an irritating polka playing in the background for the Allen twins’ free skate.

 

She hears a collective gasp and her focus snaps to the monitor on the wall airing the live broadcast. Chloe steps over so she can see it, too.

 

_~~~~~_

_“Just terrible. She stepped into the spin, then I'm not sure, but it looked like she got caught_ _in his lederhosen.”_

 

_“You know what this means.”_

_~~~~~_

 

They both look to Gail for confirmation and she nods. “We are _in_.”

 

Beca’s ears start ringing and she thinks it’s from shock but it’s probably from Chloe screaming.

 

“Yeah, baby! We're going to Korea!”

 

* * *

 

Chloe takes Beca to a bar. She’d wanted to celebrate and was shocked when Beca had asked to join her.

 

They sit at the bar, music blasting, and the bartender sets two shot glasses between them and pours.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chloe asks with a smile.

 

Beca nods. “Whatever you're having.”

 

So Chloe nods back and raises her arm; she licks her wrist and she can tell Beca’s watching it a little too closely but doesn’t say anything. She sprinkles salt on it, licks it again, and tosses back the shot of tequila before finishing with a bite of lime. She looks at Beca expectantly who nods and licks her wrist, salts it, licks it and grimaces, and takes the shot and grimaces harder. She’s trying hard to be confident about it all but it’s actually kind of comical. Chloe hands her a slice of lime and she sinks her teeth into it desperately.

 

They do a second round immediately and Beca doesn’t grimace quite so hard. And then she jerks her head toward the dance floor. “Come on.”

 

Beca’s asking her to dance.

 

Chloe’s never seen this side of Beca before - unbuttoned, loose, dancing to hip-hop. She kind of loves it.

 

She kind of loves Beca.

 

There are third and fourth shots.

 

Beca doesn’t even flinch anymore, and she’s the one dragging Chloe back to the dance floor after the sixth. It’s not a slow song but Beca presses herself close to Chloe anyway, wraps her arms around her neck and sways to anything but the beat, and buries her face in Chloe’s neck for a second before smiling up at her.

 

Chloe decides it’s time to go after that.

 

* * *

 

[Track 23]

 

She has to all but carry Beca back to her hotel room, and she’s a giggling mess the entire way. She drags her in and aims for her to land on a chair and she does so with a thud.

 

Beca’s still laughing. “Wanna dance?”

 

“No, I don't think so.” She starts to turn down Beca’s bed for her.

 

“Chlo. Chloe, babe. Please don't _think_ . That's what I like about the way I feel. Even if I tried to think, I couldn't. And I think too much, and I think so long. And it's so _tiring!_ The world is spinning and spinning and spinning.”

 

Chloe would laugh if she didn’t feel a whole lot of conflict about the way Beca’s been acting toward her tonight.. She bends down to take off Beca’s heels for her.

 

Beca takes them from her and seems amused by them as Chloe starts working on unbuttoning Beca’s coat. “Did you ever play with magnets when you were a kid? You’d push them around and they'd push away and you push them back? All you really had to do was just flip them over, and suddenly…”

 

Beca goes quiet and Chloe looks down at her to see Beca staring up at her and she’s staring at her like...well, like she wants something. Beca drops her shoes and reaches for her.

 

Chloe backs away, puts space between them. She can’t do it, as much as she wants to.

 

“Don't you see? That's why everything's been so awful. All we needed was a little flip.”

 

“Come on, Beca, it's not right. What about Jesse?” She tries not to think about what’s happening and pours Beca a glass of water.

 

“Oh, Jesse shmessy,” she laughs. “We're through.”

 

Chloe stops. Everything stops. She glances over at Beca and watches her throw off her coat.

 

“Our engagement is off. _Flip._ ”

 

She hands Beca the water and waits for a sign that Beca’s joking. That she didn’t break up with her fiance. That she’s not propositioning Chloe. But all Beca does is look at her expectantly while she drinks her water.

 

“Come on. Not tonight.” Chloe smiles, trying to come across as thoughtful as she’s being. “Not like this.”

 

“Not like what?” Beca asks with an innocent smile before she stands up and falls forward, making Chloe catch her as she giggles. “Not like me?”

 

“Beca, you’re hammered.”

 

Beca grins up at her and acts scandalized. “What do you mean?”

 

Chloe gathers her up to set her back on her own two feet. “That means it's time for you to go to bed.”

 

Beca’s mood changes in an instant and she shoves Chloe’s hands off her. “God, just what I need. Someone else telling me what to do. In case you missed it, I am throwing myself at you. I am tearing off my clothes -” she rips the front of her shirt open, sending buttons flying, “- and you are telling me it’s past my bedtime!”

 

“Becs, why don't you calm -”

 

“I get enough coaching on the ice. Get out.”

 

“No, Beca, that’s not what - you don’t understand, I -”

 

“Do I ever. Excuse my surprise, but really, what a disappointment.”

 

Chloe’s taken aback. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

 

“Well, look at you. God's gift to humans everywhere, revealed as nothing but a prude in wolf's clothing.”

 

Chloe knows Beca doesn’t mean it, but that doesn’t mean it cuts any less deeply. “You're a lousy drunk.” She heads for the door.

 

“And you're a lousy date!”

 

She turns back and takes a breath. “It didn't have to be like this.”

 

Beca’s voice shakes and her eyes are glassy. “I said, get out.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s not sure why she keeps drinking even when she’s alone in her hotel room. But she’s mad, and sad, and confused. Beca’s engagement is off. Jesse is gone. Beca wants her - if only when she’s drunk. And all it’s all done is make her realize how much she loves Beca.

 

She also has a minibar she doesn’t have to pay for, so that’s also a good reason to keep drinking.

 

She’s lining up an adorable tiny (empty) bottle of Jack Daniel’s next to the other three when there’s a knock on her door.

 

She rolls out of bed, wobbly and unready to deal with whatever Beca’s come to say. She’s not quite sure what she’ll do if Beca’s come to do something other than talk.

 

But when she opens the door, it’s not Beca.

 

It’s Stacie Conrad.

 

“Hi,” the lithe brunette says with a smile. And she’s holding a rose. She’s _actually_ holding a rose. “I watched your program. You've got a _great_ sit spin. I thought maybe we could trade secrets.”

 

Chloe makes another dumb decision and opens her door further to let Stacie in.

 

At least she’ll help Chloe forget about Beca for a little while.

 

* * *

 

[Track 24]

 

Beca feels...like hell.

 

She’s never felt as bad as she feels right now.

 

She’s sure no one in the history of time has felt as terrible as she feels.

 

The first two hours after waking up were spent doing nothing but puking. It took another two to successfully shower and dress because she kept having to stop so she wouldn’t puke _again._ But she makes it out of her hotel room, even if she has to wear sunglasses to try to help her splitting headache. It’s a monumental effort and she leans against her door once she makes it into the hall.

 

But a room service waiter passes by, clearing someone’s dinner from last night - uncovered plates of half-eaten, hours-old, sauce-covered pasta roll past her and her stomach seizes. She grabs the handle to her door to rush back in but it doesn’t budge.

 

She feels her pockets quickly, but she has no key.

 

She’s locked out.

 

The realization that she’s going to have to go to Chloe’s room so she doesn’t recreate Chloe’s pre-short program moment in the hallway of the hotel actually makes her nausea pass.

 

She doesn’t remember a lot of last night, but she remembers enough to know she pretty much threw herself at her partner and made a huge ass of herself. And then insulted her.

 

A whole lot of feelings seemed to come to a head for her once she was forced to stop thinking so much.

 

She does her best to work up an apology; she knows she owes Chloe a big one. She knocks on her door and waits. She has to knock twice but it finally opens and Stacie Conrad is the one to greet her, naked save for the pillow she’s using to cover herself.

 

Stacie smiles and cocks her head at her. “It's a little early for practice, isn't it?”

 

Beca tries not to stare and starts to leave. “I'm sorry. I must have the wrong room -”

 

“Can you ask them for more towels?”

 

Chloe’s voice stops her and she steps back to see Chloe wrapping a towel around herself.

 

And Chloe sees her, too.

 

“Beca.”

 

Beca leaves and heads for the elevator and she can hear Chloe running after her.

 

“Beca! Beca, will you wait a minute? Beca. Beca!”

 

Chloe catches up with her in the elevator whose fucking doors won’t close quickly enough.

 

“Don't. Don't even try it. Just looking at you makes me sick.” She feels worse than the tequila made her feel. “To think I was coming to apologize. _Stacie Conrad._ ” She punches the button for the lobby.

 

“Beca, were you or were you not engaged until last night?” Chloe’s pissed. Or frustrated. Or scared. Beca’s not sure.

 

“That’s hardly the point.”

 

“You threw me out of your room!”

 

“Thank God for that. What’d you do, immediately run to her?”

 

Chloe almost laughs. “What? No! She came to my -”

 

“Spare me the details.”

 

“Okay, where the hell do you get off?”

 

Beca cannot even believe her. _“Me?”_

 

“This is my fault? From the very first day I walked into your rink you’ve treated me like you were doing me a favor and I have to learn to live with that. Then one night you get drunk, I'm supposed to just fall over myself for you? Beca, I can’t just shift gears like that.”

 

The elevator doors open behind Chloe in her towel. “Get out of my way.”

 

“No problem. I've been practicing _that_ move for a year!”

 

* * *

 

[Track 25]

 

**_February 2017_ **

**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ **

 

“So, we have a problem?” Gail asks. They’re in Connecticut. In Beca’s rink. On the ice. With ten feet and a hundred miles between them to prepare for the Olympics. “Too bad. We’re going to skip your little problem and go straight your big problem. And what is our big problem, Coach?” she asks when neither of them speaks. “Who? Kommissar and Krämer. _Who?_ Kommissar and Krämer. Last night they won the European Championship with record-breaking scores.” She wanders onto the ice with a few well-worn pieces of paper in her hands and starts laying them down, one by one, on the ice between Beca and Chloe. “The media has given them the gold already. ‘Kommissar and Krämer are unbeatable,’ they’re saying.” Chloe is listening but really doesn’t want to react. Beca doesn’t seem to care, so why should she? “We should say goodbye to the gold medal. On the other hand, maybe there’s a way to win...but it’s probably too dangerous.”

 

That gets Chloe’s attention and she skates past the sketches slowly and picks the last one up; it’s a move she’s never seen, and it’s nuts. “Where did these come from?”

 

“I've been working on this for 11 years, but I’ve never had the need, or the skaters, to try it.”

 

Chloe tries to make out the mysterious move. “What is this? Is this a bounce spin into a throw?”

 

Beca skates up beside her and stamps to a stop and reads it over Chloe’s shoulder. “You can’t do that.”

 

“The key to this is the release. You can’t go halfway.”

 

“No,” Beca states. “No. It's illegal.”

 

Gail hums. “Legal, illegal. It’s debatable, and I would win the argument.”

 

Chloe imagines it and what it would take. Sees it in her head. “Bounce spin to a throw twist. Then I catch her?”

 

“Well, sort of.”

 

Beca shakes her head. “We can't do this.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We have five weeks.”

 

Chloe smiles; she’s so in. “The Feinberger Twist.”

 

“Absolutely not.” Beca skates away.

 

“What, you expect us to name it after you?”

 

Gail seems to reconsider at Beca’s rejection. “No, nevermind. I was wrong.” She takes the sketch from Chloe. “It’s not the right time.”

 

“No, wait a minute,” Chloe protests. “This is cool. I can do this.”

 

“What are you saying?” Beca snaps. “That I can't?”

 

Chloe just shrugs. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

 

“I’ve been competing for 13 years and nobody tells me what I can or cannot do!”

 

* * *

 

**_March 2017_ **

**_**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ ** _ **

 

They practice.

 

It’s nuts. The amount of speed and strength it takes...Chloe has Beca by the ankle, spinning her, lifted completely off the ice, around and around with her head mere inches from hitting the surface. It breaks down quickly because Chloe can’t hold her and Beca catches herself with her hands before falling too hard.

 

“Okay, again.”

 

They go again, and Beca slides across the ice.

 

“Again.”

 

She hits the ice.

 

**_April 2017_ **

**_**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ ** _ **

 

“Beca, head up. Higher. Take her higher. She has to fly!”

 

Beca hits the ice again, and so does Chloe.

 

“The release, Chloe. You have to commit to it. If you don’t commit to it, she’s going to get hurt.”

 

Chloe fails and Beca hits the ice again. She hits it so hard she starts to get up but falls again and looks over her shoulder at Chloe. She’s in pain, and exhausted, Chloe can tell she’s not mad, but she can see the fear in her eyes when she finally gets back to her feet to try it again.

 

“Higher, Chloe! It has to be an explosion!”

 

Chloe throws her and Beca lands on her side and doesn’t try to get up.

 

Chloe can see her body shaking - Beca’s crying on the ice.

 

* * *

 

**_June 2017_ **

**_**_Greenwich, Connecticut_ ** _ **

 

Chloe can’t sleep, even though she’s exhausted. She found Beca and Donald’s 2014 routine on YouTube and watches it - watches the lift, watches Beca’s skate miss Donald’s shoulder on the dismount, watches her fall to the ice and lose.

 

* * *

 

_**February 2018** _

_**Pyeongchang, South Korea** _

_**XXIII Winter Olympic Games** _

 

It feels surreal to Chloe that she’s back at the Olympics, back on Team USA. It’s press day and she and Beca and Stacie and Donald are suited up in their red, white, and blue gear to take questions and smile.

 

“So, Chloe, what's the difference between this and women’s hockey?” a reporter directs at her.

 

“The men,” she says and gets a nice laugh out of it.

 

An English reporter asks the group, “Is everybody out for themselves or is there a team spirit building?”

 

Stacie’s quick to answer with a flirtatious smile. “Oh, we're definitely a team. There's a real sense of togetherness.”

 

“Spirit!” Chloe adds.

 

“Yes, spirit!” Stacie echoes. “Family. It’s sort of…it’s almost…”

 

“Orgasmic.”

 

Chloe’s head snaps to stare at Beca in shock.

 

There’s a moment of collective surprise but then there’s a commotion and the press rushes away; the Germans have arrived.

 

* * *

 

They’re forced to wait and watch Stacie and Donald skate their short program, and it’s irritating.

 

Beca looks at Chloe and notices her blouse. “You forgot a button.”

 

“Oh, no, I like it open.”

 

Beca frowns at her. “Well, it looks terrible.”

 

“It pulls at my neck when I lift my arms.”

 

“Well, you should've mentioned that in Kansas City.”

 

Gail interrupts them with, “Enough!”

 

They listen to the scores for Conrad and Park - all high, high marks.

 

“Button it,” Beca snaps.

 

Chloe ignores her and steps onto the ice. “We’re on.”

 

~~~~~

_“Representing the United States of America: Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale.”_

~~~~~

 

They skate into position and pose, palms against palms. “For the last time, button the goddamn button,” Beca whispers.

 

“Get over it.”

 

“You’re a jerk.”

 

Their music begins.

 

“If it was 40 below and that button meant the difference between a long, satisfying life and a cold, horrible death from hypothermia, I still wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Now skate.”

 

They skate. There’s a quarter of a second where Chloe almost misses the grip switch, the very first move she ever learned. Almost.

 

~~~~~

_“A technically superior program but did you feel there was something missing?”_

 

_“Absolutely. They delivered all the short-program required moves, but it seemed very cold. As if we were seeing two strangers, rather than a fluid pair. It just didn't look like they were having fun out there.”_

~~~~~

 

There’s press in the kiss and cry waiting to interview them. “Chloe! Was the altitude a problem tonight?” a woman from NBC asks.

 

“No,” she answers bruskly as she waits for their scores. They’re lower than Stacie and Donald’s.

 

“The free skate,” the reporter continues. “We've been hearing all week about your new surprise move. What's it called?”

 

“The Feinberger.”

 

“The Feinberger? Is it named after -”

 

“We're not doing it,” Beca interrupts.

 

“What?”

 

“We're taking it out of the program. It's not ready.”

 

The reporter looks at Chloe for a comment but she’s too confused to give one.

 

* * *

 

[Track 26]

 

_**February 2018** _

_**Gangneung, South Korea** _

 

Chloe’s been summoned to some kind of meeting and she knows the moment she walks into the dining room of the house Jack Mitchell is renting in outside Pyeongchang that this is going to be a shit show of a “conversation.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you just button it, Chloe?” Gail asks as they all walk in.

 

“Me?” Chloe says, confused.

 

“Yes, you. What were you thinking?”

 

“She’s making like this is my fault?” she says to Mr. Mitchell in disbelief.

 

“You didn't deliver today,” Jack says coldly. “You didn’t get it done. What do you want, a pat on the back?”

 

She feels slapped. “Wait, when did I become the scapegoat? She can’t focus because of a button? Please. Do you want to know what happened? Ask the ice queen.” Beca doesn’t look at her.

 

Jack’s firm when he responds, “That’ll be about enough of that.”

 

“Let me know when you’re done laying down the law, Jack, because then maybe you can tell me why I spent five weeks on a move she was never going to do!”

 

“You're out of line, Chloe.”

 

“I came here for the gold medal! Losing gracefully does nothing for me.”

 

“Maybe you should think about that in the future -”

 

Chloe doesn’t care what Jack has to say. “Oh, is that what you told Donald in Sochi?”

 

The accusation shuts him up.

 

“You can kid yourselves all you want about what happened. I've seen the video. Donald was getting it done. Ask her,” she points at Gail. “She'll tell you.”

 

“Alright, Chloe,” Gail says quietly. “That’s enough.”

 

“Today it's about a button. You people are all excuses. You want to point a finger -” Hers is already pointing at Beca before she finishes her sentence.

 

Jack’s on his feet. “You goddamn bitch.”

 

“Gotta find that go-to guy, huh? You should've started with a go-to girl, Jack.”

 

“Okay, that’s it!”

 

“She's right.”

 

“What?” Chloe yells, and then immediately sobers realizing it was Beca.

 

“She's right. She is. All of it.” Beca’s quiet. Timid, almost. But sure in her words. “We worked so hard for two years. And I just went and threw it all away.” She stands and Chloe thinks she’s going to leave, but Beca stops and looks at her. “Why did you stay with me?”

 

“Beca, don't,” her father says.

 

“Don't what? Tell the truth? We can't undo happened today. We can't start over. Do you think I look at myself, at what I've become - this...this controlling bitch, and do you think I'm proud of it?”

 

Jack looks at Beca, and Chloe can see he’s not really hearing her. “What is it you want, Beca?”

 

Meanwhile, Chloe’s heart is breaking for her.

 

“I don't know. I guess I’d like to go back to when this all started and have you say, win or lose, I could just be your daughter.” She looks at Chloe. “You came every day, and you skated. This must have been like a nightmare for you. I didn't know it was going to end up like this. I'm sorry.” She’s crying and looks at Chloe. “I'm so sorry. For everything. I have to go.”

 

* * *

 

[Track 27]

 

When Chloe comes downstairs, several pieces of luggage are lined up in the foyer near the door. Beca shows up a moment later from down the hall, dressed to go outside.

 

“Becs, what's all this?”

 

“I'm going to the rink with my father. Gail has the other car. She'll take you over when you're ready to go.”

 

“No, I'm talking about the bags.”

 

“I'm catching the 6:30 flight tonight.”

 

Chloe’s heart starts to sink. “Tonight? After we skate?”

 

“The house is paid up for two weeks,” Beca says politely, “so stay as long as you like.” She’s not being cold, or formal, but she does sound disconnected.

 

“Beca, wait. What are you saying? lf this is about yesterday -”

 

“I'm retiring.”

 

Chloe’s heart drops. “What?”

 

“This afternoon is my final skate.”

 

“Beca, come on -”

 

“You'll be fine,” she says quickly. “You won't have any trouble finding another partner. Of course, they won't have my awesome slap shot,” she says with a teary laugh. “I gotta go get ready.”

 

She leaves before Chloe can stop her, and it the slam of the door feels a lot like the check that ended her hockey career.

 

* * *

 

_**February 2018** _

_**Pyeongchang, South Korea** _

 

~~~~~

_“Park and Conrad looking well-positioned for a medal.”_

 

_“Still to skate are Kommissar and Krämer and Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale.”_

~~~~~

 

Beca doesn’t speak to Chloe at the rink, not more than is required for a warm-up. Beca can barely hold eye contact with her.

 

But they have to skate, and Gail forces them to stand close before their turn, her arms around each of their shoulders. “Do you know what I think would be so good? If you would go out there today and skate for these people the way I have seen you skate. _Enjoy_ each other.”

 

Chloe tries not to think about it as they practice a lift in the warm-up room while they wait for the pair preceding them to finish their program, but she bobbles Beca and has to set her down before she even gets her all the way up. She barely slept last night, and it’s not because she’s nervous about their free skate tonight.

 

She’s nervous because the thought of losing Beca was too much to handle.

 

“What's the matter?” Beca asks, looking concerned.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Beca sighs at her answer and walks away and Chloe watches her go - until her feet finally listen and follow her deeper into the room.

 

“Becs, I'm sorry. My timing - I know it sucks, but I just keep thinking this thing with us, that it's going to go away.”

 

Beca’s half-listening, putting herself through a few stretches.

 

“I keep thinking if I can just keep moving and checking, I'll get clear, but...do you understand what I'm telling you?”

 

“I don't want to fight anymore,” Beca says weakly and starts to walk away toward their ice as their names are called, so Chloe chases her.

 

“No. I mean, yeah, I don't want to fight, either.”

 

“Look, we have to skate.”

 

Chloe gets in front of her and cuts off her path. She needs to do it, and she needs to do it now. “This can’t wait. Beca, maybe...maybe I was scared. Or you were scared. Or the timing was wrong. Or…” She feels tongue-tied, and she’s never gotten tongue-tied like this with someone before. “I just - I just -”

 

They’re reading off the scores of the last pair and Beca looks up at her, face unreadable and eyes wide.

 

“Beca, somewhere in the middle of all this I fell in love with you.”

 

A coordinator approaches them with a smile. “You may take the ice.”

 

Beca just stares at her. Someone bumps into her and she blinks but doesn’t look away.

 

“I'm saying I love you, Beca.” The staffers force them forward and Chloe only lets Beca go as far as she has to. “Don't say we're not right for each other because we might not be right for anybody else.”

 

“Ladies, you have to go on -”

 

“Will you shut up for a minute!” she snaps at the staffer. She grabs Beca’s hands to plead with her and now Beca can’t look at her. She looks anywhere _but_ at her. “It can't be any harder to stay together than it was to stay apart.”

 

“30 seconds.”

 

She could really slap this staffer right now. “Will you wait just wait!” She looks at Beca, and Beca has tears running down her cheeks. “Beca. I need you.”

 

Something seems to wash over Beca and she closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. When she reopens them, she smiles, and nods, and says with absolution, “We're doing the Feinberger.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, you heard me!” Beca says with a shaky but resolved voice.

 

“You think I'm doing this to get a program out of you?”

 

Beca looks up at her with an almost innocent smile. “You want to win, don't you?”

 

“No, Becs. It's too dangerous.”

 

Beca just shrugs. “Then we agreed,” she laughs and steps onto the ice. “We're putting it in.”

 

“It's out,” Chloe says as she catches up to skate to center ice with her.

 

“It's in.”

 

“Out.”

 

“ln.”

 

“Out!”

 

_“In.”_

 

They glide to their starting point and intertwine their hands for their first position in the dead center of the Olympic rings painted under the ice. “What difference does it make?” Chloe asks.

 

Beca seems different; looks different. The tears are gone. “The difference is I'm in the mood to kick a little ass.” She smiles at Chloe as “The Greatest” fills an Olympic figure skating arena.

 

They skate. They skate for four and a half minutes. Four and a half minutes of side by side triple toe loops, sit spins, double Axels.

 

Beca turns. Chloe turns. They match speed. Chloe’s hands lock around Beca’s ankle and leans, feet pumping their spin as Beca flies higher and higher until Chloe throws her, spinning through the air while Chloe’s spin carries her forward to catch Beca when she lands.

 

They coast to a stop, Chloe on one knee and Beca leaning back, holding onto her. They’re both smiling, Beca even more so than Chloe.

 

“You didn't have to,” she says to Beca, oblivious to the audience’s reaction to their performance.

 

Beca nods. “Yes, I did.”

 

“Why?”

 

Her eyes move over Chloe’s face for a second and then lock on hers. “Because I love you.”

 

Chloe feels her heart soar and the cheers come back and start to sound a lot like a soundtrack to their moment. “Just remember who said it first,” Chloe says with a smile before leaning down to kiss her.

 

Chloe's pretty sure she doesn't need a gold medal anymore.

 

But it doesn't hurt to win one anyway.


End file.
